Do You Love Me?
by darkmorsmordreheart
Summary: DM&HP. Twisted tale told by Harry Potter, a vampire who has a few screws loose and has managed to pin one Draco Malfoy to a bed.


_Harry Potter is not mine._

* * *

**Do You Love Me?**

"Midnights are time for naughtiness, Draco. Did you know that?"

The young blond opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling above him, as he had been all day when he was not sleeping. It had not changed since then and it would not have changed when he closed his eyes and opened them once again, but his insistent mercury gaze appeared riveted to the sight of it. Uneven, rough grey stone and spider webs; exciting. He rolled his neck deliberately, both to look away from the dank ceiling and to stretch his tense muscles. Hour after hour in his forced position created knots that were not easily loosened.

"Naughty midnight magic, Draco. Do you like the idea of that?"

He tentatively tested his bonds. Still tight. Still strong. He almost wished for manacles rather than the thick, tight rope. It tore into his skin, burned his wrists and ankles with every movement. The banging of his delicate joints against the rusted metal of manacles and chains he was sure he could handle, but for the burning of rope. He hissed in pain as he rolled his aching shoulders and, in effect, moved the arms tied above his head. How he hated the pain of the rope, but in some ways, he relished in the pain . . . It meant he was still able to feel. Feeling was good. Feeling meant he was alive.

"Midnight. Midnight. Naughty, naughty midnight," the voice near the end of his bed chanted in the ever present giddy tone he had come to familiarize with the rope. "We'll do naughty things tonight, Draco. Look at what I've worn for you."

He glanced at the dull ceiling once before allowing his cool gaze to follow the voice.

It was dressed in purple; the thing that looked like his rival was. A rich, rich purple. A royal color, one to adorn the bodies of kings and queens, not merely the putrid flesh of the thing that looked like his rival. It wore nothing beneath the robes. The blond could see that through the thin fabric. Nothing but inches and inches of pure white flesh where once there had been golden skin and pink blushes. The robes hung long on its lean frame. He presumed they did not stop until pallid toes, but his bonds allowed him only so much of a field of vision. It smiled at him and sauntered up the side of the bed, its cold fingers painting a trail up his leg and thigh until they halted just next to his hipbone.

"Look what I've worn for you, Draco," it said again, fiddling with the dark fabric that occasionally brushed against its navel. "Do you like it?"

"You look like a whore," the blond rasped. The first words of the night.

It pouted and for a moment, the pale green eyes went dark, but within the next second, the darkness was gone and a smile played on its lips. The cold fingers followed the sharp line of his hipbone and nested within his pale blond curls. "You didn't say you didn't like it." He didn't respond, but closed his eyes and hissed when the cold hand wrapped around his rigid length. "Naughty, naughty midnight."

He lifted his hips up, pumping faster and faster into the cool hand until the fingers suddenly fell away and his eyes opened once more to the sight of the ceiling. He felt the bed dip and cool legs straddled his own.

"I think it's time for a story. How about you?" the giddy little voice asked. He didn't reply, but arched at the feel of icy palms running across the skin of his chest. It took his reaction as a yes. "Now, Draco, you must forgive me because this story is from such a long time ago . . . I sometimes drift away when telling it. I almost can't remember it, but I know I'll never forget." It smiled down at him, its sharp teeth glinting in the dim candlelight. He did not smile back. "Your father and I were lovers," it said. "He loved me, Draco. He loved me so much. He lavished me with presents . . . Like this robe!"

The blond watched as it pulled the garment in question off and ripped it to shreds. The thin fabric floated down onto his face like amethyst snow, warmer than the skin against his. A silky strip landed on his lips and it leaned forward and kissed it. He kissed back.

"I was a prince to be pampered, he told me," it announced as it pulled away from silk covered lips. "And he would give me everything." It tilted his head and looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. Cool hands ran up his chest to his neck and finally either side of his jaw and it smiled with sharp white teeth and glittering sage eyes. "You look like him, Draco. He would lie beneath me like this and whisper those pretty words and he would love me." Sage eyes closed and one hand left his jaw to explore its own pale skin; first its throat, then its chest, the nipples and navel. "I would ride him and he would tell me these things . . . Would you whisper those things to me, too, Draco?"

"Ride me," he suggested and those eyes opened, gazing down at him as if just realizing his existence. Thin, pale pink lips parted and a wild giggle was let loose. It closed its eyes and pushed its hands flat against his chest as it levered its hips up. The blond arched into the sudden cold tightness and it screamed; the eyes that opened now were crimson and raging, the scream was tainted and sinful. The eyes closed just as the scream ended and he watched its face. It looked as if it was asking a silent question or trying to solve a particularly hard puzzle a moment before it opened its sage eyes. It smiled and moved its hips experimentally while hissing in pain.

"Very, very naughty. Very naughty, Draco. Naughty Draco," it gasped, fisting its hands into its dark hair. Pale hips pulled up, pushed down, and forced pained pleasure from his tender organ. The passage was tight, unbelievably so and so wet with both his pleasure and it's borrow blood. There was no way the pool of blood oozing from their joining could possibly belong to it. Impossible, but so delightfully cold. Deliciously stolen and used to pleasure him. "Mmm . . . Just like your father."

It stopped moving suddenly and the blond yanked against his bonds in protest. One of the fisted hands left the black locks and created a path to the cool skin just under its navel. A finger gathered drops of cool sweat and brought them to its lips. Pale green eyes looked down at him and it smiled. "He was amazing. More amazing than you could ever be, Draco. When he was inside me, he overwhelmed me with emotion and with his power. He was the only man to ever truly take me. I feel only a ghost of him when you are inside of me." It looked down on his blank face with distain and quickly and harshly slapped him across the mouth, the torn fabric of its robes floating silently to the pillow beside his head. He said nothing and received a kiss. And another.

"You taste like him and smell like him. Your eyes are lighter, your hair is darker, your skin is smoother." It smiled as memories rushed through it, causing the thin, pale body to tremble. "The fingertips against my body were always rough. They felt so good." It moved its hips and he moaned. "Everything with him was always so good."

"Why aren't you with him?" he asked. A dreamier look danced across its face and the smile widened.

"One night," it began as it moved its hips. "We were making love, your father and I. All I would have to say was, 'Do you love me?' and he would give the sweetest smile and whisper yes to me and I knew he was telling the truth. He always told me the truth. No matter what." It rolled its hips and they both moaned. "He was so handsome that night. His shining hair spread out across the pillow, his skin shimmering like champagne in the candlelight, his smile warming every part of me. I wanted him inside of me that night so badly, just like always. But he wasn't inside me . . ."

"Why?" he asked quietly and it closed its eyes.

"I can't . . . No, he wasn't inside me because . . . someone else was," it whispered as the hips rolled again. "He was beneath me as always, but not inside me and . . . his eyes were not smiling . . ." It thrust down suddenly and an array of moans echoed through the small room. "They were darker than yours . . . so dark and . . ."

"Not smiling," he provided.

"Yes," it groaned, arching back as electric pleasure spread between them. "Yes, Draco . . . Yes, yes, yes . . . Yes." It bit its lips and twin pinpricks of bright red appeared upon the pale skin. "No smile . . . His lips smiled, but they didn't say a word and his eyes looked at nothing."

"Smiled at nothing."

"Smiled at nothing," it agreed, torment in its voice either from the story or the rising passion or both. "But he was so handsome and his lips smiled and I felt warm, but he was cold . . ."

"Who was inside of you?"

"A monster," it said, its smile returning with throaty bout of laughter. It lifted its hands as if to catch something in the air, but unceremoniously let them drop to his sides as he stopped moving.

"Don't," he murmured, but was ignored.

"The monster . . . it took away your father's warmth . . . and then . . ."

"And then?" he prompted, the pressure between his legs uncomfortably building as the passage seemed to grow tighter.

"And then . . . it took me," it giggled, bouncing up and down in delight until he exploded inside the tight passage, coating the cold bloodied walls with pleasure and pain all at once. He released a husky scream and banged his head against the hard pillow as he fell back down from barely skimming heaven and landed once more in hell. It looked satisfied, however, despite the rigid evidence of arousal dripping want onto his stomach. Fingers threaded into his pale blond locks and it smiled. He did not smile back. "It took me, Draco, and I lost all my warmth, too."

"Did you?" he panted, closing his eyes in shivering pleasure as it bent forward and kissed his sweaty brow.

"I would ask him if he loved me and he would always answer," it whispered against his skin before moving to whisper some more into his ear. "'Do you love me, Lucius?' I would ask just like this." It pulled away and looked down at him, its eyes hungry and hot. "And he would always answer, 'Yes. So much. I love you so much.'" It smiled and looked up at the dank ceiling; the grayness of it and the spider webs. "I asked him when my warmth was lost . . . and he said nothing."

"Nothing?" It didn't answer him, just looked down at him with cold and hungry eyes. Those sage eyes closed and it leaned forward, pressing its cold face into his neck and tickling him with the cold trickle of its tears.

"Do you love me, Draco?"

He yanked at the rope tying his arms above his head and it tore away to allow him to wrap his arms around that thin, pale body.

"Yes. So much," he replied, smiling up at the ceiling, his sharp teeth glinting in the dim candlelight of the room. "I love you so much, Harry."

**-End-**


End file.
